


your world was burning and i stood watching

by spacexkitten



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Idk what this is really, Post-Season/Series 01, Stalking, villanelle pining after eve the only way she knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacexkitten/pseuds/spacexkitten
Summary: A week after the incident, Villanelle is still trying to deal with the heartbreak in her unique way.





	your world was burning and i stood watching

Her fingers brush the soft fabric of the curtain, as she stares at the apartment across the street. Disappointed by the lack of movement there, she releases the curtain from her grasp to pace around in the darkness of her hideout.

A restless hand cards strands of blonde hair when she decides to sit on the chair close to the window and behind the table, where a rifle is set up ominously.

She grimaces when she realizes how agitated she’s been feeling and takes a deep breath. As she exhales, she feels—or rather, pretends to be—calm. Her eyes spot a peach she’d earlier set down next to the gun. She smirks to herself before she picks it up and brings it to her mouth. She leans back in the wooden chair and puts her feet on the table.

She takes another bite before she reaches for the glossy piece of paper that is her current assignment. ‘Eve Polastri,’ she whispers, rolling the r; the only reply that is heard is the soft crunch the peach makes between her teeth. Her fingers flip the card to reveal the photograph the reverse side bears. 'You motherfucker,' her voice, then, comes soft, ‘…I miss you.’

Moments of stillness pass as she steals glances at the apartment across the street. The crisp Parisian breeze coming in from the open window makes her eyes water; she makes sure to blink fast, lest she misses the moment Eve appears again in her new apartment.

The pads of her fingers absently trace the creases on the paper. In her head, she curses herself for that time she had almost crumbled the paper into a ball, when it was first mailed to her. Her first instinct had been to throw it away; she'd promised Eve she wouldn't kill her. Plus, she already knows anything there is to know about Eve, from her current address and task to dig up more about her— _Oksana—_ to the smallest details she herself had noticed when she had been around Eve: what a  _nice_  body she has; the way her breath hitched when they'd see each other— 

A light is turned on in the apartment across the street. A weak, nearly inaudible,  _fuck_ leaves Villanelle’s lips before she makes to wipe her hands on her slacks but stops herself; she reaches for a cloth tossed on the table, instead. Shortly, she gets up and peeks through the gun's scope. Instinctly, her finger rests before the trigger. She bites her lower lip as she watches Eve pass a hand through her hair.

For a hot moment, overwhelmed with feelings as she is, she considers dropping everything, from this hideous hideout to her current assignments, and trying to start anew.  _With Eve_. She shakes her head;  _that_  would require forgiving Eve for breaking her heart and she’s not quite ready to do that. Dozens of cards bearing hand-written variations of  _I’m sorry_  Eve has so far slipped under the door of Villanelle’s apartment are not enough for her to forgive her. She does like the effort, though, she admits to herself and shrugs.

 _I’m tired, Oksana,_  reads the latest hand-written note she’s left at the apartment they’d last seen each other. Sure, during the day, when Villanelle observes her from afar, the woman wears a mask of twisted determination; at night, uncertainty slips out. She does  _look_  tired, Villanelle notices and grimaces; her shoulders appear to bear an invisible burden, her fingers barely supporting the wine glass in her hand. That playful smirk that has previously worked its way onto Villanelle's face fades instantly. It seems like sleepless nights and days of this silly game of hide-and-seek have left their mark on Eve’s angelic face, too.

That lump in Villanelle's throat she's been ignoing is now making its presence known to her. Absently, Villanelle brings one hand there and her fingers examine the area. "Oh, I'm tired, too, baby," Villanelle mutters, voice coming out laced with something akin to sadness. 

By the time her hand is off her throat, the curly-haired woman has moved to the small balcony. Villanelle keeps watching, her breath bated.

For a moment, she takes her head off the gun. Her eyes travel lower to appreciate the woman's legs in the short nightgown, whose fabric she wishes she could feel, and linger there for a hot second.

The next time she rests her head on the gun's cold surface to look through its scope, Eve is looking  _straight_  at her. Taken by surprise, Villanelle lifts her head off the gun to look at her with her own two eyes. The minimal street lights contour Eve's face so nicely, Villanelle can't help but grin, although she doubts Eve can see it in the darkness. She feels the impulse to wave, but catches herself before she does.

Although Eve's steady gaze both terrifies and arouses her, she refuses to take her eyes off her, for fear Eve will disappear, like she did that time in one of her dreams. Eve's eyes leave Villanelle's, but only for a moment, as she drinks the last of her wine. Eve lifts her gaze to look at Villanelle one last time and the corners of her mouth curl upward. Villanelle welcomes it as a nod of acknowledgement and appreciation of her presence; a  _you came back to me before I could find you_ ; a  _goodnight_  the only way Eve dares say these days. And, then, she retires inside her apartment and Villanelle is left alone, pondering her next move.

Enveloped in darkness, Villanelle smiles to herself, as her gaze falls to the floor. Idly, she extends her arm to knock the empty gun to the floor and picks up the photograph from the table. Her hand finds the inside pocket of her blazer, where some of Eve's hand-written cards are, and slides it in. 

She steals a last look out the window and at Eve's apartment's direction, but only after she has packed her stuff to move back to her apartment and wait for Eve there. Backbag dangling from her shoulder, she brings two fingers to her lips, leaves a soft kiss on them. “Goodnight, baby,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.


End file.
